


The Quiet Man

by Imagine_Darksiders



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Corruption, F/M, G/T, Giant/Tiny, Macro/Micro, Protective Siblings, Scarab Hulk, Structural collapse, Valus is a little overbearing, but he means well, human reader, my hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16087466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagine_Darksiders/pseuds/Imagine_Darksiders
Summary: You've only known him for a week, but when you're in serious danger, you find out just how far Valus is willing to go to protect you.





	The Quiet Man

Family.

One of the greatest fundamentals in life that makers hold near and dear to their mighty hearts. Especially now that the only remaining members of their species are all cobbled together in one place; Tri-Stone - a tiny town set on the edge of a deep valley, surrounded by imposing mountains and ancient, dark woodlands.

It had been somewhat of a slap in the face when you unexpectedly fell through the Crowfather’s portal with Death and landed in the lush, green plains of the Forge Lands only to discover that there would be constant reminders all around you, of the family you’d left behind.

You almost wanted to resent the resident species of the realm for making you recount your tragic tale. But they’d just been so damn  _kind_. You’re ashamed to admit it, but when the elder - Eideard - knelt to curl his wrinkled, colossal hand around your back and told you that he was sorry, you’d promptly burst into tears. The rest of the makers watched sadly whilst you hid your face in their elder’s soft, white beard and cried yourself numb. 

One maker in particular seemed more disconcerted by your story than expected. 

Valus; a maker to whom family is paramount, felt his steady heart murmur in response to your distress. 

He and his twin sister have been nigh inseparable since they first learnt how to  _walk_. He doesn’t rightly know what he would do without Alya and she, without him. Perhaps that’s why, after you arrived, he felt compelled to make you welcome. 

They all  _have_  each other - Muria, Eideard, Alya, Thane…. even the youngest, Karn. Corruption has taken many of their kind but at least they have one another. 

The makers have lost so much.

But you? 

You’ve lost  _everything_. 

And that grief lay heavy over Tri Stone in the days that follow. 

—- 

It didn’t take too long before the threat of losing yourself entirely to depression spurred you to distract yourself. Coincidentally, you decided that it was high time you started repaying the makers’ hospitality by making yourself useful. 

“Hey Y/n!” 

Morning arrived on the eighth day and it  _still_  comes as an awful surprise when your eyes blink open to the sight of a huge, blacksmith’s forge instead of your old bedroom. Pushing down the pang of longing that comes with waking, you sit up on the furs serving as your temporary bed and stretch, jaw opening wide into a tired yawn. The sound of the forge fire being bellowed greets your ears. You’d taken to sleeping under the stone canopy at night, it being the warmest place in Tri-Stone.

You scrub the last traces of sleep from your eyes and offer a half-hearted smile to the redheaded maker standing over you. “Morning Alya,” you return, graciously accepting the hunk of bread-like food she presses into your hands. 

“Eat,” she commands, “You look like hell.” 

“ _Thanks._ You know, we can’t all be as flawless as  _you_  in the morning,” you quip back, earning yourself a playful tut and a sly wink as she saunters over to a barrel of metal bars and begins rifling through it, carefully selecting one and lifting it to squint down its length. You can’t help but notice that you’re short one maker. Valus and Alya are rarely seen without the other, so the absence of the her brother is instantly apparent. 

Swallowing your mouthful, you hop down off the bench, stretching your legs and sweeping your gaze down the steps and out over Tri Stone. “Say, where’s Valus?” 

The sigh that leaves Alya sounds vaguely worried. You turn, finding her pursing her lips and staring off into the distance, towards the huge, stone gateway that leads to the Stonefathers’ vale. She narrows her misty-grey eyes, blindly feeding the bar into the forge. “If’n I had to guess,” she sniffs, “I’d say he’s out lookin’ for his old friend, Splinter Bone…. _Again_.” 

You tilt your head curiously. “Splinter Bone?

“Oh aye.” Alya picks a hammer off the nearby anvil, laying the now boiling hot, malleable bar down on its surface and goes about drawing out the sword. “S’a hammer, one of the finest he’s ever made. He  _hates_  forgin’ armour and weapons without it, but its been missin’ for a while now after he lost it in a place we call ‘The Shattered Forge.” 

“Woah,” you breathe, leaning against the wall and stuffing the last of the not-bread into your mouth, mumbling around it, “He mutht really wove thut hammer, huh?”

The maker giggles airily at your stuffed cheeks, replying, “Splinter Bone was a close friend…” Your brow furrows slightly as Alya trails off with a sigh and her hammer strikes slow down considerably. “S’why he’s so desperate to find it,” she murmurs, turning the tool over in her hands, “Valus doesn’t have many friends…” 

You’re about to point out that surely she and the other makers are his friends but she suddenly tilts her head down at you and grins widely. “Well, least he  _didn’t_  have many. But now,  _you’re_  here!” 

“I-What?” 

Alya’s auburn braids bounce as she nods enthusiastically, returning to whack the sword before it cools too much. “ _You’re_ here,” she repeats, “That’s one more friend for  _all_  of us.” 

You’re gobsmacked. Here, you’ve barely been amongst them for a week, spent most of your time wishing you were back home with your own family and Alya’s telling you that she and the other makers consider you a friend? You voice the latter thought aloud, to which she responds casually, “Course we do.”

You’re quick to protest. “But…but Death’s the one who’s helping you guys. I haven’t done  _anything_!” 

The maker pulls her lips into a smirk and she says, matter-of-factly, “Oh, the horseman may be the one doin’ all the heavy liftin’, but Valus says - and we all agree! - Death’s not as _likeable_ as youare.” 

You hesitate, venturing, “Valus…thinks I’m likeable?” Well that’s certainly unexpected. You’ve never had what you’d call a ‘conversation’ with him and you always got the sense that you annoyed him by talking  _at_  him all the time, keen to fill any stretch of quiet lest you start dwelling on things you’d rather not be dwelling on… “Come on, Alya. He’s barely said a word to me since I got here.” 

“Oh that’s just his way. Doesn’t mean he’s not listening to you.” She comes back to the anvil and faces the opposite direction from where you’re sat, so you miss her knowing smirk when she says, “Trust me. He  _likes_  you, little ‘un.” 

Finding yourself unable to find a way to reply to that, you simply duck your head with a soft ‘oh’ and fish into your back pocket, digging out your trusty pocket knife. You often find yourself fiddling with the silly, little thing.   
Back on Earth, when the shit hit the proverbial, apocalyptic fan, you’d grabbed it off a man’s body. At the time, part of you wanted to be sick at the thought of stealing from the dead, but now, you’re just grateful for your quick thinking. Turning the steel blade over in your fingers, you catch sight of yourself in the tiny reflection. Have your eyes always been so…….tired?

“So,” Alya pipes up, although her voice is far quieter now, “what d’you think?” 

Something in the way she asks sets your teeth on edge. Her tone is deeper and the words sound deliberate, carrying a hidden danger. Carefully, you ask, “What do I think of what?” 

Without hesitation, “My brother… _liking_  you?” 

“Oh. I - I don’t know,” you shrug truthfully, “I’m  _flattered_ , I guess..” 

Is it just your imagination, or has she started hammering that sword a little harder? “Uh..You okay over there, Al?” 

The hammering stops abruptly and her head shifts to stare down at you over her shoulder. You peer back, wary of the sudden shift in the mood. 

“….Look,” she sighs eventually, “When you arrived, my brother took a shine to you. S’not a  _bad_  thing,” she rushes to explain, raising a hand into the air, “We - me and the others - noticed and think its actually quite sweet.  Now, whether you want to or not, you’re in a position to do some damage…”

You blurt out a nervous laugh. “It sounds as if you think I’m gonna, like, break his heart or something.” Awkwardly, your laughter peters out when you realise that her expression hasn’t shifted at all. “Al-Alya?”

The forge goes quiet for a time, broken by nothing but the roaring flames. Sighing, the maker tosses her hammer onto the anvil with enough force to make you jump before she braces her arms against the sides. “Ach, I’m sorry,” she apologises, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m bein’ unreasonable, s’just-” Her eyelids droop sympathetically. “-I  _know_  my brother. He may not look it, but he can be softer than  _Muria_  most days. He’s got a big heart, I just don’t want to see it get broken.” 

Your grip on the knife tightens anxiously. “Okay, I’m not claiming to know your brother better than you, but I  _think_  you’re reading too much into this,” you urge, “I mean, I’ve only been here a week. I really don’t think Valus is in  _love_ with me.” 

Her lips tug upwards a little and she exhales softly through her nose. “I never said it  _was_  love. Don’t need to be in love to break a heart,” she murmurs, “Friends break em all the time. Family too.”

“Yeah….I guess you’re right about that,” you grumble, casting your eyes to the ground. You realise that she’s still watching you because there’s still no hammering. Chewing on your lip, you glance up and shoot her a genuine smile, drawing in a shaky breath. “Alya. You don’t need to worry, okay? I promise, hurting Valus is the  _last_  thing I want to do….Not that I  _could_  anyway. Have you seen the  _size_  of him?” The attempt at humour is well received as she snorts and finally returns to working the blade.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she only half-teases. 

“Cross my heart-” Your fingers make the quick motion over your chest.   
“-Seriously though, I get it. I mean,  _I’d_  do anything for my family too.”

Flashes of Earth cloud your mind along with ghastly memories of people - some of them family - screaming and clambering over each other to get away from the demons. There were children crying, calling out for help, wailing for their mothers. The petrified faces of your family are forever burned into the inside of your eyelids. 

You wrench yourself out of the memory, ducking to scratching at your nose, disguising the swiping of a tear off your cheek. “Well….I would, if I could.." 

Alya’s brow pinches whilst she kneads her upper lip between her tusks. In the end, she reasons that there isn’t a whole lot she can say to that, so she drops the matter, her heart heavy for your anguish but glad that you’d promised not to hurt her brother. 

Meanwhile, you’ve brought the knife up to your eyes again and you’re staring down at your reflection contemplatively. You’d kill to have your old hair brush right now. 

“Valus! You’re back!” A shout from Alya startles you into dropping the blade on the ground. Stooping to pick it up, you glance over to the entrance of the forge in time to see Valus trundle up the steps, mighty shoulders sagging and his skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. 

Every time he appears, he always seems to catch you off guard. All twenty something feet of the maker is built to intimidate and threaten, yet his voice is gentle to the point of nonexistence. All he does is grunt, hum and occasionally sigh, as though the weight of the world is bearing down on him and its all he can do to keep breathing. There’s a calmness to him as well, a serenity that puts your nerves at ease whenever you spend time with him.

Valus’s helmeted head swivels around, searching the area until it stops, pointed straight in your direction and even though his eyes are hidden, you can feel that vigilant, unwavering gaze land on your face. The maker rumbles softly and nods his greeting, striding past and bending to pat you delicately on top of your head as he goes by. You watch Alya meet him in the centre, where she cocks her hip and taps a foot, giving him a hard glare. 

“Been out lookin’ for your hammer again?” she inquires brusquely, “Didn’t think to  _tell_   _me_  before you left though, did you?”   
At least her brother has the sense to bow his head, ashamed. It doesn’t last long though.   
Alya sighs exasperatedly, carding a hand through her thick, red hair. He gives off an embarrassed moan, no doubt resenting the fact that she’s chosen to scold him in front of  _you_. She doesn’t appear to care though, instead reaching out to grip his forearms, a motion he mirrors at the exact same time. 

You observe curiously as the twins lean into each other, tilting forwards until her forehead clunks dully against his helm. She closes her eyes, exhaling whilst her brother remains perfectly silent, though you’re almost certain there are unspoken words being exchanged in the simple, affectionate gesture. 

A familiar ache starts up in your chest at the sight of the two siblings interacting. 

Alya scrunches up her nose distastefully and pushes her forehead into his even more firmly. “The Shattered Forge is _dangerous_ , brother. Some of those rooms are as unstable as a one-legged construct. And at  **night** , it’s crawling with corrupted beasties! What’m I gonna do if you get buried out there? Or corrupted yourself?  _Hmm_?” 

His apologetic grumble makes you smile. Due to her behaviour, you always assumed that  _Alya_  would be the more reckless of the two. Although it would appear you need to revisit that assumption. 

After another moment, she pulls away and places her hand on Valus’s armoured shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she says encouragingly, “We’ll  _find_  Splinter Bone. Just….stop going out at  _night_?” 

The forge brother gives her a half-hearted nod and a grumble. Taking the shaped sword off the anvil, he dips it into a quenching barrel and lets his shoulders and head droop visibly as the steam rises off the cooling metal. 

‘ _He looks so sad_ ,’ you ponder, casting your mind back to what Alya had said, about Valus not having many friends. At that moment, an idea slowly begins to take root in your brain. The ache in your chest gives way to something a little lighter then, driving you to hop up from the wall and hurriedly trot over to the steps. You only manage to get halfway down them before there’s an urgent grunt from behind you. 

“Whassat now Valus?” Alya pipes up, flicking her gaze over to her brother and following the direction his helmet’s pointed until she spies you standing on the steps, staring up at her guiltily, like a cat that's been caught with its paw in the cream. 

“And where’re  _you_  off to?” She quirks a suspicious eyebrow. 

Trying to act as casual as possible, fully aware of both forge brother  _and_  sister holding you in place with their steely eyes, you jerk a thumb towards the training area. “Just gonna go see Thane,” you answer innocently, “I need to ask him when Death said he’d be getting back.” 

“ _Well_ ….” Alya glances at her brother, who’s eyes remain fixed on you from beneath the visor, “…Oh alright, go on then.” 

You resist the urge to fist pump. “Kay. See you guys in a bit. Thanks for breakfast Alya!”   
With that, you fly down the steps and skip as unassumingly as you can towards Thane’s arena, feeling Valus’s gaze on you the entire way. Only when you reach the staircase leading up to the stone gate do you risk a quick peek over your shoulder and release a whoosh of breath to find that he's returned to tempering the sword. 

Another look at the far end of the training area and you spot the maker warrior - Thane - busying himself with thumbing flecks of dried blood from his trusted axe and  _far_  too preoccupied to spot you. 

‘ _Now or never_ ,’ you tell yourself. 

To be perfectly honest, Alya and Valus have good reason to be a little suspicious of your hasty retreat from their forge. This wouldn’t have been the first time you’d tried to sneak out of the front gate in order to follow Death into the Forge Lands beyond. This time however, you had no intention of leaving to find  _Death_. 

Valus had been the one to catch you the first time. You’d hated how much smaller you felt whilst you were being lectured by Eideard about the dangers of being a human in this treacherous realm - smaller than you  _already_  are. Although you  _especially_  couldn’t bear the way his soft scolding reminded you of a father telling his child off for some minor offence. It was such a typically human thing to do, and it only served to make you feel homesick. 

Now, you’re determined to prove that you  _aren’t_  just a useless human. You want to show them that you  _do_  have a chance out there, and getting Splinter Bone back for Valus seems like the perfect opportunity. Besides, Alya said that her brother considers you his friend but you don’t feel as though you’ve done anything to  _earn_  that mantle. 

As deftly as a mouse, you slip up the steps, duck behind the low wall and creep over to the open gateway. Taking one last look back at Tri-Stone, you pat your back pocket and smile feeling the solid shape of the knife resting there.  With that, you sneak right out the ‘front door’, on towards the Stonefather’s Vale, beyond which lays the Shattered Forge….

—---

A half hour passes and Valus continues to get distracted by your absence. His sister continues to forge but he's preoccupied with glancing over at Thane's arena and squinting to try and see if he can spy you. 

"Oh for - Would you just go and get her, if you're so worried?" Alya suddenly snaps, giving his back a good shove, "S'not like you're gettin' any good forgin' done."  
Valus huffs, embarrassed, but throws his sister a grateful smile - one that she can see even with the hunk of metal hiding his face - and drops the half-formed sword on the anvil, plodding purposefully down the steps, heading for the arena. It's not that he doesn't trust you. It's just that he doesn't think you're aware of your own mortality and before you left, you were doing that thing you do with your eyes whenever you're telling a lie. 

“Ah, Valus? What can I do for ye?” Thane glances up at the sound of heavy, approaching footsteps and pauses his assault on the poor training dummy. “Fancy a spar?” 

Seemingly ignoring the warrior’s query, Valus glances around the arena, his head aimed low to the ground and every now and then, a rumble filters out from underneath the mask. Thane notes how distracted he is -  _agitated_ , even. 

“You lookin’ for the kid?” he guesses. When Valus nods enthusiastically, he plants Bess on the ground, leaning against her and quirking his head. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair,” he scratches at his beard, “Least not today.”

The younger maker stiffens, staring at him for a minute, then, without a word - surprising nobody - he turns and lumbers hurriedly over to the staircase, climbing up it faster than Thane has ever seen him move. 

“Oi,” he calls, “Where’re _you_ goin’ in such a hurry?” But Valus has already disappeared through the gate. 

With a huff, Thane picks up his axe and shakes his head. “ _Hmmph_ , younglings these days..” 

—---

And there it is. 

You grin triumphantly up at the imposing dungeon; The Shattered Forge. It looms over you, as tall and breathtaking as it is dark and intimidating.

Blackroot hadn’t steered you wrong, this is definitely the place. The place you’d find Splinter Bone. Though you’ve no idea how on Earth you’re supposed to drag it back to Tri Stone, especially if it’s anything  _like_  as big as the other weapons the makers carry. But, you decide to cross that bridge when you get to it. 

There’s a lightness in your heart and a skip in your step as you make your way through the tall entrance way, feeling like a real adventurer with a proper quest. Distantly, you wonder if Death would be proud.…. 

\----

‘ _Well_!’ you think, picking yourself up off the hard ground, keeping your eyes trained on the enormous, corrupted scarab hulk that has taken extreme offence to your invasion of its territory, ‘ _At least I **made**  it to my destination._’ Ha. And Thane always said you wouldn’t survive for five minutes beyond the outskirts of the town. 

The scarab hurls several slippery tentacles your way, and to your credit, you manage to avoid at least four of them. But as you pause to reach into your pocket, the remaining two swiftly dart forwards, one knocking you clean off your feet and the other sliding effortlessly around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides as it begins to increase the crushing pressure like some kind of enormous, grotesque anaconda. 

You kick and struggle against the oily, black vines, grunting frustratedly and trying with all your might to disentangle yourself enough to pull an arm free in order to reach the knife. Responding to your thrashes, the vine simply squeezes you even tighter, crushing all of the air from your lungs and stealing any breath you’d managed to suck down. The giant scarab snaps its pincers at you and holds your breathless body over its head for an agonisingly long time, as though it  _knows_  it has you trapped and at this point, all it wants is for you to suffer. 

As your world begins to grow dark, you can do little else but watch as the bug drags you down, down, down towards its gaping maw, ready to devour you alive. 

With your last ounce of comprehensive thought, you silently admonish yourself for thinking that you could do this at all. You were so desperate to prove that you could be useful, you’d never stopped to consider the fact that you  _might_ fail. Splinter-bone is as missing as it ever was and thanks to you, Valus will have lost not one, but  _two_  friends.… .. . 

‘ _Some help **I**  turned out to be_.  _Eideard was right,_ ’ you admit dismally, trying and failing to suck in a life-saving breath, ‘ _I really **am**  helpless out here…_.’

Black spots swim across your vision, filling your sight with the comforting allure of darkness. At least you won’t have to see that saliva-filled mouth any more…Surprisingly, you don’t feel a lot of fear. In fact, you don’t feel much of anything at all. 

_‘Is this what dying feels like?’_

Nothing announces the timely arrival of your rescuer. There’s no fierce battle-cry. No demands that you be put down or let go. There is only the thundering approach of something  _immensely_  powerful charging towards you and the hulking, corrupted scarab. 

The vines constricting your airway loosen without warning when a sword as long as a minibus is brought down on the writhing appendage, slicing it clean off the bug’s body. You fall the short but painful distance to the ground whilst it shrieks in pain and scuttles backwards, away from the new threat. 

Sweet, blessed air rushes back into your lungs and the dark spots cluttering your vision start to disperse. Coughing into the dusty ground, you flop over onto your side and stare blearily up at the dark shape looming over you. It takes a few blinks before your vision clears enough to bring anything into focus and when it does, you find yourself staring up at the back of a heavily-armoured man. His biceps strain and bulge against the leather bindings on his arms and one of his monstrous hands is clad in a metal gauntlet. The muscles on his back heave up and down with every breath he draws in and a thick, hunter-green scarf hangs loosely around his neck. It’s by  _this_  article of clothing that you finally recognise your saviour. 

“Valus?” you croak. 

The herculean forge brother glances quickly over his shoulder, his face completely obscured by the thick, metal helmet with a narrow, rectangular visor that allows him to see. He stands protectively between you and your attacker, like a hulking knight in clunky, soot-stained armour, peering down at you in a way that’s even  _more_  impossible to read than Death. 

In all honesty, you hadn’t expected  _anyone_  would rescue you. And you  _certainly_ wouldn’t have predicted that it would be Valus.

Suddenly, the bug gives off a tremendous hiss, rattling its wings at the maker, who drags his head around to focus on it, stamping his foot like a bull that’s about to charge. Clearly deciding that it needs to get the first move in, the creature explodes forwards, weaving its way to Valus just as he throws his sword into its sheathe and brings up his sturdy hands, fingers splayed wide. The bug slams into him with enough force to shake the ceiling, sending dust and fragments of rock raining down on top of you. 

Wasting no time, Valus wraps his fingers around the two pincers that snap and bite at his face whilst the bug shoves into him, sliding the large maker backwards across the ground,  _right_  at you. 

Gasping, you manage to roll out of the way just in time, dazedly watching the two giants go hurtling past the place where you’d been laying moments ago. There’s a loud boom when the bug finally slams Valus into the far wall and roars triumphantly in his masked face.

Incredibly, the forge brother hardly makes a sound, even with the struggling, corrupted demon giving him a run for his money. 

One thing you’ve noticed is a consistency among the makers, is that they’re usually extremely vocal fighters. Karn never  _stops_  talking during a battle. Thane constantly pokes fun at everything he fights and even Alya tends to laugh sadistically when she’s beating the snot out of enemies.

But Valus remains eerily silent. You can hear him grunting with the strain of keeping the creature at bay, snarling in pain every time one of those black vines finds a chink in his armour and jabs mercilessly into his pale, exposed flesh. The sight of Valus’s blood renews you with a sense of urgency, so you push yourself to your feet and grab the knife from your pocket, dashing over to the warring giants, shouting up to your friend, “Just hang on, big guy!”

Seeing you run straight  _at_  the monster instead of away from it, Valus lets out a low, distressed whine, unable to reach you because he’s still trapped in this odd stalemate with a corrupted insect. He can merely continue to resist having his head chewed off whereas you duck and roll between the huge jungle of legs and whipping tendrils, coming to a stop directly beneath the scarab’s abdomen. There, clutching your trusty knife, you thrust it up as hard as you can into the softer, unprotected flesh of its underbelly. 

The beast throws its head back and howls in agony, giving the maker just enough of an opening to take advantage. 

Valus adjusts his grip and chucks the bug’s head to the side,  _hard_. He then uses the distraction to land several devastating punches to the top of its skull, crushing dozens of beady, black eyes beneath his strong fists. It thrashes, scuttling from side to side in an attempt to dislodge itself from the maker’s grip, though as it does, a wild swipe of its leg catches you off guard and knocks you to the ground, pushing a pained yelp from your mouth. 

At the sound of your cry, Valus’s eyes snap down to see you laying on the floor with your hands shielding your head and the bug’s legs jabbing dangerously close to your vulnerable, little body. They barely miss impaling you on the sharp ends with every pass. 

A terrible rage undulates just below the forge brother’s thick skin, swelling to a crescendo and rippling outwards from his booming heart to every nerve in his gargantuan body. Letting go of the dazed scarab’s head, he ducks and thrusts his shoulders forwards, forcing the thorax into the air and giving him enough space to plant his hands on the underside of its abdomen. With an almighty heave, Valus lifts the hideous beast up and over his head, holding it as a pro-wrestler might hold the championship belt. 

You unfurl your arms to stare, awestruck at the maker.  
The creature’s forelegs scrabble for purchase, cutting and slashing at his flesh, but he doesn’t even flinch, merely snorts derisively before bracing his feet into the ground and hurling its hefty body through the air as if it weighed no more than a tennis ball.

 The power in these beings never fails to give you chills. 

The bug sails across the cave until it hits the wall with an earth-shatteirng force, cracking the hard stone, then it crashes to the floor where it lays perfectly still and - hopefully - dead. 

A tired exhale escapes from beneath Valus’s helm as he lets himself slump, relieved. The feeling is short-lived though. As he reaches down to help you to your feet, the maker starts upon finding that you’ve already leapt up and are currently darting across the cavern to the fallen creature. 

He makes a noise in the back of his throat and instinctively begins to lumber after you, a thousand scenarios flashing through his skull of all the different ways you could still get yourself killed. You, on the other hand, are only determined to finish the job. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from being around Death, it’s that one should never just  _assume_  an enemy is dead. 

Skidding to a halt at the insect’s chest, you hurriedly retrieved your knife and and step up to the exposed flesh of its neck. You waste no more time in pushing the blade into its jugular, jerking it to the side sharply. Without warning, the beast’s eyes fly open and it rears its head off the ground, jaw wide, trying to screech something, but all that comes out is a pitiful gurgle. Vile green blood spills from its throat. The moment it moved, you went scrambling away from it, screaming for a moment when you’re suddenly lifted off your feet and tucked against a huge chest. Sitting in Valus’ sooty palm, the two of you wait breathlessly for the creature to finally die. It gives a final hiss of breath and at last, collapses back to the ground, the remaining eyes staring glassily off into the nothingness of death. 

Only then do you remember that you need to breathe. 

“H-hooly  _crap_ ,” you wheeze and flop back into the warm palm, “That was a close-” 

A low rumble interrupts when Valus’s free hand comes up to grab and spin you around. Although you can’t see his face, you can certainly  _feel_  the heat of his stare searing into you through his visor. You blink up at him, trembling from the waning adrenaline which slowly ebbs away, leaving room for anxiety to take root between your ribs. He  _wants_  to speak. There are words dancing on the tip of his tongue, you just  _know_  it. Words of admonishment, perhaps? Of incredulity, or anger? Thane shouts a  _lot_  when he’s angry.

All of a sudden, you’re jolted as Valus lowers his masked face down to you, so close now that you’re able to see twin flashes of bright, sea-green shining out from beneath the visor. For a second or two, you’re stunned, despite the maker’s odd action.  _None_  of the other makers have green eyes. His are heavily shadowed and from what you can see, the right is marred by a nasty-looking burn that distorts his skin and has fused the outer corner of his eyelid shut but that doesn’t take away from how dazzling they are. ‘ _That must have hurt_ ’, you can’t help but wonder. Valus moves again ducking slightly and closing his eyes to push the helm closer to you. Unfortunately, you don’t quite catch the significance of the motion at first, so you sit there, confused. The maker seems to realise this, for one of his fingers abruptly presses into the back of your head and gently nudges you until your forehead connects with his, just above the visor. 

You’re stunned, motionless. This is  _not_  what you’d expected. Since the destruction of Earth, you’d felt lost. Trapped in a dark place that felt a lot like being stuck in limbo. It took you a while to realise that the feeling stemmed from any sense of belonging going up in smoke with the rest of your world. Now, here is a maker - a man who isn’t even the same species as you - pushing your forehead into his the same way he’d done to his own sister. It may have been a simple enough gesture for him, but for you it meant so much more. It gave you that sense of belonging you’d been missing. You felt like a part of something again, like a….

You stop before you can get your hopes up, not daring to even  _think_  the word. 

Valus keeps his finger where it is, relishing the softness of your hair beneath his forge-worn flesh.   
Feeling your short, warm little breaths wash in through the gap in his mask and slide over his eyelids, he smiles, a rare occurrence.   
You’re alive. You’re alive and  _here_  and he’s  _got_  you. He  _wasn’t_  too late. 

Slowly, reluctantly, Valus pulls away and stares at you, mesmerised to see that your eyes are glistening with unshed tears that make them shine wonderfully in the dim light. He places you gently on the ground again and contents himself with just watching, head tilted.

Sheepishly, you rub at your arm, avoiding the maker’s inescapable gaze. Eventually, clearing your throat, you murmur, “Thank you.”   
He doesn’t respond, nor does he move. He just stands there,  _looking_  at you. “…Listen, Valus. I’m so sorr-” 

The both of you snap your heads up to the ceiling when it suddenly moans and a shudder ripples through the entire room. Little bits of dust shower down from above for a while before things settle again. Neither of you dare make a sound, staring up warily, waiting to see if something happens again. When it doesn’t, you cough, getting Valus’s attention. “So…um….” Raising a hand to point at the door, you say, “We should probably get out of here, right?” 

At last, the maker nods, exhaling warmly and following your lead as you turn to start for the room’s entrance. 

Nothing prepares you for the whole room shifting all at once. 

An ear-splitting thunderclap nearly deafens you, drawing your heads up to the ceiling once again. Dread plummets down from your throat into your stomach at the sight of an enormous crack, splitting its way right across the roof. Your fight with the corrupted scarab must have weakened its foundation and now the whole place is about to collapse... with you inside! 

“Shit!  **Run**!” you bellow and start to sprint for the door, feeling Valus’s heavy footfalls shake the earth behind you. “Come on, come  _on_ ,” you urge, mostly to yourself, “ _Faster_!” 

Abruptly, you’re jerked to a halt as the forge brother grabs you around the waist and yanks you backwards. Just in time too, it would seem, for an entire section of the ceiling slams to the ground not a split-second later, right where you’d just been standing and coincidentally, right in front of the doorway. You’re  _trapped_. 

Immediately, Valus steps over you and grabs the chunk of rock. He manages to lift it a few feet off the ground before he quickly glances over his shoulder and gasps. You follow his gaze up and scream. Another slab of rock is hurtling down on top of you, seconds away from crushing you flat so without a better idea, you fling your arms over your head and fall to the ground, terrified. 

An enormous shadow appears overhead, followed by a booming crash and a loud snarl of pain. 

Your eyes burst open to look up, and your jaw drops.

In an act of blind heroism, Valus has flung himself on top of you with his huge hands splayed out on each of your sides to create a space beneath himself for you to - hopefully - stay out of harm’s way.  Agonisingly, he’s taken the brunt of the blow from the falling slab. It smashes into his back along with dozens of other pieces of falling rock, each one forcing him onto his forearms and threatening to make him yield under their weight. Helplessly, you can do nothing but stare misty-eyed into his visor, aghast as the maker is buffeted by an entire ceiling that gradually works to bury you both. 

Stone after stone, piece by piece the room falls to ruin and the only thing stopping Valus’s arms from giving out, is  _you_. 

A tear squeezes out of your eye and meanders down your face as the direness of the situation sets it. The tiny space between you and Valus begins to look fuzzy and you can hear your heart beating between your ears, thumping slower and slower until your eyes close and your arms collapse out from under you. The last thing you’re aware of before you faint is the sound of your name being called in a voice that sounds like the rumbling of distant thunder… .. 

—-

When you come to, everything is still. 

In those moments, two things become clear. The first, is that you can feel something wet dripping directly onto your forehead. The second, is that your entire body aches something fierce. A few moments pass, then pain lances through your head, bringing with it the memories of what happened and tugs a groan from your throat. 

Almost as if responding to your pitiable whimper, you hear a different groan somewhere above your head. This one is lower and louder and the wetness, you realise, is coming from the same direction. Slowly, you blink through the darkness, becoming aware of the tiniest sliver of light breaking through the wall of rubble from the outside and illuminating your little prison. Coughing up a lungful of dust, you stiffly push yourself into a sitting position, raising your hands up into the air, feeling for the roof. 

Your fingers touch something metal and a soft, warm gust of wind ruffles your dusty hair. In a flash, you remember that you're not alone.   
“Valus!” you choke out, scrambling up onto your knees, “Oh no, no, no.  _Valus_? Can your hear me? Are you alright!?” 

You exhale shakily when you receive an affirmative grunt. It’s becoming easier to see now, you’re able to make out the monumental mask hovering a foot or so overhead and if you squint, you can see a steady trail of dark liquid seep out through the visor. Embarrassingly, you don’t register that its blood right away, though when you do, you quickly stretch up, feeding a hand through the gap to wipe gently at the skin around his eyes. The maker flinches at first - surprised - but then you feel his brow relax under the touch and he sighs quietly.   
Pulling your arm out again, you cringe upon finding it completely drenched in fresh blood. 

That nearly has you fainting all over again. 

Knees buckling out from under you, you thud onto your backside, still staring at your hand whilst Valus looks down at you with a gentle frown. 

“Valus, I-” You catch a sob before it can escape, biting your lip sharply enough to draw some blood of your own. “ _This is all my fault….._ ” 

Above you, the cavern shifts again, moaning in protest as the maker fights to keep it off you. His arms have started to tremble and his breathing sounds ragged and uneven, only adding to your guilt. 

You wipe some tears off your cheeks and kneel up again, shuffling forwards until you stop under his chin. He makes a sound of confusion, falling silent when he feels the soft press of a pair of lips against his stubbled cheek. His almighty heart starts pounding so ferociously,  _you_  can hear it and he flushes nervously at the feel of your fingers tenderly brushing a lumpy scar on his neck. “I’m so  _sorry_ , big guy…” 

Valus’s green eyes soften considerably and a low, reassuring hum fills the stone cage. He doesn’t even care why you came here, he doesn’t care that he’s trapped. His only priority right now, is getting  _you_  out. 

The situation is looking pretty dicey. He’s dangerously close to giving out, his arms burn with the strain of holding a thousand tonnes of stone at bay and the blood drips down his face from a gash in the back of his head. But with you underneath him, giving up  _isn’t_  an option.   
There’s light. That’s good. That means there’s a gap, and  _if_  that gap is big enough, you might just be able to get out. He knows that if you stay, you’re as good as dead and if he collapses while you’re still here, you’ll be crushed under his chest. However, if you  _leave_ , you stand a hell of a lot more chance of surviving. 

That settles it then.. Grunting painfully, the forge brother shifts the immense weight into one, strong arm and uses his now free hand to twitch his fingers towards you, brushing them against your back and drawing your frightened gaze up to his helm. He keeps his shoulders as square as possible and is just able to jerk his head towards the narrow tunnel, from which the light is flickering. 

Twisting about, you spot it as well, your eyes narrowing as you understand what he’s trying to tell you. “No,” you snap, whipping your head around again and curling your fingers into the fabric of his scarf, “No way. I’m  _not_  leaving you.”   

From above, the stone gives another tremulous shudder and you have to wave away the dust to be able to breathe again. Valus’s face contorts in anguish, though it’s not for the pain on his back. He carefully bends his wrist until he’s able to pinch the back of your hoodie between two fingers and drags you away from his face. Then, spinning you about, he uses his knuckles to prod you towards the narrow tunnel. 

Stubbornly, you rip your hoodie from his fingers and crawl back up to his mask, glaring into the visor. “I said, I’m  **not**  gonna leave you.” 

You  _mean_  it as well. If you leave and he….

….and  _he_ …

If he  _dies_  here,  ** _alone_** , you won’t ever be able to come back from that. You know he’s strong, but even  _Valus_  couldn’t withstand all of this weight for long. Besides, you know how it feels to be utterly alone in the last moments of your life and you wouldn’t wish it on anybody, especially not  _him_. 

However, the maker seems to have other ideas. His eyes shine imploringly down at you, blood still oozing out of the visor as he growls one word, just one, but he packs as much commanding authority and  _emotion_  into it as he can. 

“ _ **Go**_.” 

Your jaw nearly unhinges. “ _What_?” you breathe. So he can speak after all. You weren’t sure if he was a full mute or - 

The forge brother grits his teeth and whines keenly through them as something sharp starts cutting into his spine.

 Determined now, he snatches up your foot and drags you backwards, having to tug a few times to get you to let go of his mask.  _Why_  aren’t you cooperating? Can’t you see he’s trying to  _protect_  you!?

Once he has you turned around - _again_ \- he nudges you into the tunnel, coaxing you through the first part with an insistent forefinger, despite your protests. “ _Go_ ,” he repeats urgently.

You’re distraught, defeated and completely numb. Craning your neck over your shoulder, you let out a sob when you meet his green gaze. “Fine,” you croak. You couldn’t save the rest of your family. Maybe, if you’re fast enough, you can save  _this_ one. “I-I’m going for help.” 

On shaking arms and knees, you drag yourself forwards through the tight opening, cutting your hands on sharp edges and scraping your legs against the hard stone. You can feel it again; the sting of survivor’s guilt; of knowing that someone else will probably die so you can live.

 “Just….just promise me you won’t give up!?” you call, letting the tears flow as freely as they please, mingling with the dust, “I mean, after all-” Your laugh is bittersweet in Valus’s ears. “-  **you’ve**  still got a family to go back to.” 

Hearing a soft, consoling hum in response, you force yourself onwards toward the ever-growing light.


End file.
